


I Wanna Be (The Man Who Wakes Up Next To You)

by Mekina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Schmoop, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mekina/pseuds/Mekina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't understand, Dean, you want me, and I'm willing. What's so bad about me wanting you to be happy? Is it so wrong that I want you to have something you want for once?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wanna Be (The Man Who Wakes Up Next To You)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers, though I obviously changed a few words.

"Dean. _Dean_ ," Sam waved the piece of paper he was holding at him. "Are you on planet Earth? I'm trying to get your opinion on something!"

Dean swallowed hard and straightened up in the uncomfortable library chair. "Yeah. 'M listening, Sammy." Damn it. He knew better than to be falling into daydreams when Sam was awake and could look at him (or talk to him) at any second. He usually confined it to jerk off sessions or when Sam was already asleep and wouldn't notice his brother staring off into space.

"Alright," Sam said, but was still looking at him in concern. "Are you sure you're feeling okay? You've been spacey and slow to respond all day."

"I'm fine!" Dean snapped, unreasonably irritated by the worry. "Just say what you wanted to say."

Sam pursed his lips and made a bitchy little face, but went ahead anyway. "I think the werewolf is probably the gardener, he has access to all three houses, and..."

Dean let Sam's voice wash over him, only half listening. He knew he should be, knew it was important, this was hunt related, but he couldn't help himself, couldn't not stare at Sam's lips as he talked. They were so soft looking (he didn't know for sure, had never touched them, what reason would he have for doing so?), and his hair was hanging in his face. Sam kept pushing it back impatiently, and Dean wanted to do that for him, tuck it behind his ear. Maybe he should just pull it back into a ponytail. Goddamn, but that would be adorable. It was something he was suddenly longing to see.

"I think the guy is aware of what he is," Sam was saying. "I mean, the second victim was a plumber that visited house two, and he was only there for a few hours. Maybe the guy followed him home, put himself outside the victim's house so he would be there when he changed? That seems pretty deliberate to me. Dean," he said angrily, noticing Dean's eyes once more drifting out of focus. He grabbed his shoulder and shook him slightly.

Dean jolted backwards, almost knocking over his chair in an effort to get away from Sam's hand. It was ridiculous, but that simple little touch was sending shivers down his spine. It kind of depressed him, that he couldn't touch his little brother anymore without being turned on, but that was just how it was. He'd come to accept it. Mostly.

"What the hell is going on with you?" Sam asked furiously. Dean goofing off was nothing new, but this was a case! "This is important! People have died, and more are going to die if we don't do take care of this! We only have a few days until the full moon."

It took all of his self control not to physically cringe away from Sam's voice. He hated it when Sam was mad at him. "There's nothing wrong. I just... I'm having a little trouble focusing, okay? I just need some air." He stood up violently, and this time the chair did tip over. He stormed out of the building, leaving Sam to apologize to the librarian that had stalked over.

Outside, he rubbed a hand over his face, taking deep breaths. This wasn't good. He was usually more in control of himself than this. He had to be, had to try and act normal, because if he didn't, Sam would start questioning his strange behavior, and he just couldn't have that. If Sam started wondering, maybe- maybe he would realize how Dean really felt. Would realize that Dean's love for his brother had twisted, morphed into an entirely different kind of love. The very unbrotherly kind.

He stood out there for around ten minutes, just calming himself down and preparing to face Sam again. To act normal. At last, when he was ready, he turned to go back inside, and almost ran into Sam who had just exited. They stared at each other for a minute, then Dean smiled. Cocky. Annoying. "Done making eyes at the librarian? Did you get her number?"

"She's about seventy," Sam hissed, looking over his shoulder frantically, like he thought the old woman would be able to hear. Dean just laughed and led the way back to the Impala.  
*  
The motel room was awful, even for them. Barely any furniture in it, just the two beds (they were singles, not even queens, and sleeping in them was ridiculous. Dean had fallen out of his three times last night, Sam four) and the rickety desk under the window. There was no chair. It was the only place to stay in town, and Dean would rather have slept in the Impala. But no, Sam insisted on getting a motel, if only to have the bathroom. Princess.

They were on their beds, eating pizza. Sam was up against the pillows (flat and lumpy, horrible), legs tucked under him, slice of pizza in one hand and book in the other. Dean didn't know what he was reading, just that it seemed to amuse him; every so often he'd get a tiny smile on his face.

He hardly even tasted the pizza. He was too busy watching Sam to pay any attention to it. He couldn't even have said what topping it had. His heart was aching, all his love for Sam building up and getting lodged in his throat. He was sure if he opened his mouth everything would come spilling out, every thought, every daydream, every feeling and fantasy he'd ever had. Wouldn't it be better just to let it out, let it go, let it be known? Why was he keeping it secret again? In the silence of the motel, Dean almost couldn't remember.

Sam raised his head and looked around, maybe realizing how quiet it was. He looked a little nervous, like he thought Dean had run off somewhere. When their eyes met, he smiled in relief and relaxed.

Right. That was why. If Sam knew, he wouldn't be looking to make sure Dean was by his side; he would be running to get as far away as possible. Better, so much better, to have Sam just as his brother than to not have him at all. Dean had experienced that. It was horrible.

It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for what he had, Sam with him again, because he was. It was better than he could describe, them on the road, saving people and hunting things, as a team. His stupid heart just couldn't stop longing for more.  
*  
When Dean got out of the shower, Sam was already asleep. He was scrunched up awkwardly to fit on the tiny bed, but one of his legs still hung over the edge. It was utterly adorable and so amusing he had to laugh. His brother wasn't little anymore. Damn Sasquatch. Dean took a seat on the edge of his own bed, dropping the damp towel he'd been using for his hair onto the floor absentmindedly.

He would never admit to anyone that he watched Sam sleep. For one thing it was a little too pathetic. At the same time, it was just too personal. He'd watched over Sam as he slept for years, ever since they were kids and he wanted to protect him from both the threat and knowledge of all the nasty things in the world. Sam was a grown man now, he knew what existed and could take care of himself (got through four years just fine without you, Dean told himself, and it hurt, the idea that Sam didn't need him like he needed Sam), but he would never truly stop being his little brother. Which was a little twisted, considering how he felt, but it wasn't like that. Kid Sam and adult Sam were two different cases. He'd loved kid Sam like a mother would love her child (God this was just sounding worse and worse, even in his own head), but adult Sam, he was his brother, as well as the guy he was hopelessly in love with.

Point was, even though Sam was obviously grown up, he still wanted to protect him. Even almost two decades later, he guarded him when he was asleep, and woke him when he had nightmares (all too often. The things Sam had seen, it was no wonder.)

Dean pulled the blanket back on his bed and got in, rolling onto his side so he could still watch Sam, even as he drifted off himself. If anything happened, anyone got in, he'd be awake in a heartbeat. He was a lightsleeper. Anyone or anything who wanted Sam would have to go through him first.  
*  
"I'm almost positive it's the gardener," Sam said the next morning at breakfast. He was almost glowing with happiness, the way he always got when he had a case all figured out. It was breathtaking.

"Good for you," Dean grumped, rubbing his back. Somehow he'd fallen out of the bed an amazing total of eight times. He'd be better off sleeping on the floor. Sam had actually stayed in his, which made no sense. He was bigger, and was the one who moved more in his sleep. It just wasn't fair.

"The beds are too small," Sam said, understanding right away. "If you want, you can go back to the room and rest for a while. There's one last person we need to interview, but I can do it by myself."

"Aw, baby, I'm so lucky to have you. You take such good care of me." Sam would take it for sarcasm, but Dean meant it. Ironic that yesterday Sam had bitched at him for not paying attention, but today he was willing to do all the work. "Nope, you're not getting rid of me that easily." He wasn't going to make Sammy do all the work. Not on this hunt, anyway. Maybe the next one.

"Jerk. That's what I get for trying to be nice." Sam rolled his eyes but smiled into his scrambled eggs.

Dean pretended to be deeply involved with his pancakes, but snuck little looks at Sam when he was sure his brother wasn't paying attention.  
*  
"Goddamn it, Dean! What the hell were you thinking?" Sam was alternately cursing and fretting over him as he half carried, half dragged Dean from the Impala to the motel room. They needed to get the hell out of dodge before the bodies were found.

Turned out it wasn't just the gardener, but also his assistant. Two werewolves. The second one had come up behind them, bastard going straight for Sam when he turned around. Dean hadn't had time to shoot, there was barely enough time for him to jump in front of Sam, straight into the thing's path. Now he had a giant slice on his shoulder, and it was going to need a lot of stitches. He hadn't been bitten, and Sam was unharmed. Not bad.

Sam didn't seem to think so. He stripped off Dean's shirt and poured whiskey over the wound. Dean winced and tried to lean away, but Sam just caught his good arm and held him in place as he started stitching the cut with quick, efficient movements. "You're so stupid. I don't know what the hell you were thinking, you could have died. You're such an idiot sometimes, Dean!"

Dean just shrugged, then nearly doubled over in pain. Not a good idea. "What else could I do? It was heading straight for you." Better that he get hurt or killed than Sam.

"I would've shot it! I had my gun, I had time, I could have killed it with no injury to you if you hadn't gotten in the way."

A grunt was his only reply; he had to grit his teeth tightly to stop the pained noises that wanted to escape. Sam wasn't being rough or harsh, but he wasn't taking much care to be gentle, either. He was mad. Clearly.

"I just don't get why you're always jumping in front of me."

"For someone so smart, you're dumb sometimes, Sam," he said wearily when Sam finished stitching him up and had retreated to his own bed to pack.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Sam snapped, still fuming.

Dean just shook his head. _I love you_ , he wanted to say. _I love you more than anything ever, you damn idiot. How can you not tell? It's so obvious, I don't know why you haven't figured it out yet. I fucking adore you, Goddamn it. Maybe it's sick, maybe it's wrong, but I'm so in love with you I can't see straight_. Just like the previous night, everything was piling up and choking him, and he felt (no, he knew) he was dangerously close to blurting it all out. He had to get out of the room, or he would end up exploding, one way or another. He was up and halfway to the door, snagging his jacket on the way, before Sam's words stopped him cold.

"I don't know where you're going, but have you forgotten about those bodies? We need to get out of here."

Of fucking course. The werewolves. They were already wanted by the police, and his Baby, beautiful as she was, happened to be a very conspicuous car. Hence why Sam was packing.

"I didn't forget," he bluffed as he wheeled back around. "I was just going to go outside for air, but you're right. We need to be gone, the sooner the better." He hauled his own duffle over from its place in the corner and started shoving things in.

Sam watched him, a small smile unfolding on his lips as he rolled up his clothes. Neat and efficient, so they would take up as little room as possible. Sam was such a perfectionist. Dean rolled his eyes but grinned back. Sam sent him a strange, speculating look, but carried on packing.  
*  
In the car, sixty miles on, Sam had fallen asleep. Dean was feeling pretty tired himself, but he wasn't about to wake Sam up and make him drive. Half his attention was on the road stretching out in front of them (nothing but the black lane as far as he could see, monotonous but familiar, and comforting in a way) and the other half on Sam, half sprawled over his side of the front seat.

For once Sam wasn't pressed up against the window. That was how he usually slept in the Impala, but this time his head was resting on the top of the seat, lolling towards Dean, mouth slightly open. He wasn't drooling, thankfully (because if he got drool on Baby's leather, Dean would kick his ass from one side of the country to the other), and his right arm was flung out, stretching along the seat, fingertips dangerously close to Dean's thigh.

Dean bit his bottom lip until it bled, forcing his eyes front and center and not letting himself look at Sam again. Watching Sam was like a drug; one glance and he would keep looking, unable to tear himself away. That would only lead to crashing and getting the both hurt, potentially killed.

He mentally recited every creature he knew of that could be hurt or killed by silver, reminding himself of the days when John would be behind the wheel and he would be sitting in the passenger seat, his Dad quizzing him on hunting lore. That stopped him from doing something insane, like leaning over and kissing Sam awake. Or sticking his hand down Sam's pants. Or- well, doing anything to Sam.  
*  
Sam was acting weirdly. Every time Dean went to sneak a look at him, get in a little staring, Sam was already watching him. All the time. When he went to get coffee. When they did research. During interviews. As much as he could on the actual hunt and not get killed. When he got out of the shower, when he went to sleep, and when he woke up, Sam was always staring at him.

It was creepy, it was weird, he didn't like it. Sure, he stared at Sam all the time, but that was different. His looks were looks of (this sounded pathetic) longing, he was just watching what he couldn't have. Sam's looks were calculating, like he was trying to figure Dean out. It made him nervous, and a little jumpy, and he just wanted to snap at Sam to quit the Goddamn staring already!

He was in the middle of cleaning the guns one night, half lost in a daydream that involved Sam, handcuffs, and a lot of whipped cream. He didn't even have to watch what he was doing; he'd known the correct way to clean a gun since he was six, he could do it blindfolded. Dean twitched, yanked out of his fantasy by the feeling of Sam's eyes boring holes in his back. He was being watched again.

Heaving a sigh, he set the half dismantled gun down. "You got something you want to say to me?"

"Why would I?" Sam was using his innocent voice. Dean didn't believe it for a second.

"Maybe you want to tell me why you keep staring at me?" He flexed his fingers, annoyed, and picked the gun up again. Better to keep himself occupied.

"Maybe you want to tell me why you're always staring at _me_?" Sam retorted.

Everything seemed to stop. Dean went cold all over because oh God, Sam knew. He knew. Even if he hadn't figured everything out, he had noticed the staring, and it wouldn't take long before he realized it all and any minute he'd be yelling or leaving or maybe just looking at Dean with that hurt puppy look, the one he couldn't stand. The one he'd given Dad after he told Sam that if he left he wasn't coming back.

He decided to go with denial. Feign ignorance, maybe Sam would drop it. "Don't know what you're talking about, Sam. Maybe all that rabbit food is starting to get to you."

"To answer your question," Sam completely ignored his taunt, "I was watching you so much because I was trying to figure something out. I had my suspicions. And I think I'm right. I just need you to confirm it for me." Sam was coming closer, approaching the table where he was sitting.

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about." Dean's heart was racing, he was about to be found out, and there was nothing he could do. Sammy was like a dog with a bone when he wanted to find something out. He'd never give up.

Sam was finally right in front of him. He dropped to his knees in front of Dean (like he would if he was going to- no! His thoughts did not need to be going there right now), looking up at him. He didn't seem angry, or disgusted. He just seemed calm, and a little curious. "I'm pretty sure you love me, Dean."

He was still holding the damn gun. Dean rubbed a thumb along the handle absentmindedly, hardly seeing it. "'Course I love you. You're my brother."

"Not like that, Dean." Sam still didn't look mad. He actually had a small smile on his face. Dean's breathing hitched slightly as Sam put his ginormous hands on his knees. "I don't know how I never noticed it before. I guess I just never paid attention. You want me, right?"

"Sam-"

"Dean, please." Sam was using the puppy eyes on him! Goddamn it. "Stop denying it and trying to hide. Just be honest with me, for once."

Sam knew him too well, knew how hard he found it to say no to those damn eyes and the whole being earnest thing. Almost before he realized it, Dean was nodding. "Yeah. Okay. I-" He looked away, unable to see his brother watching him as he finally confessed. "I do want you, Sam. I'm," he had to force the words out. "I'm kind of stupidly in love with you." He had never imagined them being so hard to get out.

Sam nodded back at him, smile growing wider. "That's what I thought." Then he raised himself up, leaning forward, and Dean braced himself, for _something_. To be hit, yelled at, spit at, even, but it took him completely by surprise when Sam kissed him.

Dean sat there dumbly as Sam pushed closer, shoving his knees apart so he could scoot between them, one hand wrapping around the back of his neck and oh. So this was what it was like to kiss Sam. Nothing like he'd imagined. Sam's lips were a little chapped, but he always kept himself clean shaven so there was no stubble burn and wait one fucking minute because Sam. Was kissing him. And why was he kissing him?

It almost killed him to do it, but he planted a hand on Sam's chest and pushed him away. Sam pulled his head back, but not nearly enough. He was still way too close, and he smelled so damn good, how was Dean supposed to think clearly? "Sam, what are you doing? You find out your older brother has completely inappropriate thoughts about you and this is how you react? I don't, what, why are you," he spluttered, then was silenced when Sam put a finger to his lips.

"Calm down." Sam was smiling at him again, so beautiful it made his head spin. "Just let me, okay?" He moved in for another kiss, and Dean gave in. He just didn't have that much self control, faced with a willing Sam.

This had to mean something. Sam would never mess with him, would never kiss him and then pull back and announce he was kidding. He wasn't even capable of being that cruel. So, this, Sam kissing him again now, opening his mouth for Dean's questing tongue, did this mean... Could it really be that Sam actually felt the same way? Dean wasn't sure how he had managed to miss it. Perhaps he'd been so wrapped up in his longing and daydreams he'd never even looked for signs to see if his feelings were reciprocated.

They had to be, because Sam was up off the floor and trying his best to climb into Dean's lap. That wasn't the best idea. Sam was heavy, and the chair wasn't the steadiest, but Dean had Sam's tongue down his throat and his hands up his brother's shirt, so he wasn't in the mood to complain. A wild, fierce joy was filling him. This was for real, not a dream, and he could feel Sam, hot and hard against his stomach. Sam wanted him too, loved him too, and they could have this. Maybe it wasn't right, but neither was anything else they'd ever done. Hustling, fake credit cards, digging up bodies. Why not add incest to the list?

The chair creaked dangerously, a warning, and Dean tore away. "Sam, we should move, this isn't the best place," he tried, but snorted when Sam licked at his ear because Christ, no matter what people said, that wasn't sexy. Just slobbery. "Dude, no, tongues don't belong in ears."

"Girls never had a problem when I did that. Seemed to like it," Sam grinned.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm no chick. I'm very male, and so are you, and our combined weight is about to break this crappy chair." It creaked again. "C'mon, this is what we have beds for!"

Sam slid off his lap, looking a little reluctant to do so, and that just made Dean's heart beat faster. The second he was out of the chair he was launching himself at Sam, aiming for another kiss, but it was off target, landing on the corner of his mouth instead. He tried again and got it right this time, kissing Sam slow and deep, and he knew he would never, ever get tired of that. Any of it.

They ended up on one of the beds (Sam's, which meant if there were a wet spot he'd be sleeping in it, unless he decided to share a bed with Dean. Dean had no problem with that), grinding together and making out like teenagers. Neither of them managed to get any clothes off, but at that moment, Dean didn't give a flying fuck. He was with Sam, touching him and kissing him like he'd wanted to for so long (how long had it been? Christ, he wasn't sure. Years, definitely), so it didn't matter at that point how dressed they were. It was definitely going to be an issue in the future, he couldn't wait to get under Sammy's clothes, see up close and personal what he'd been staring at from far off.

Sam came first, rocking into Dean so damn sweet, trembling and moaning over him as the pleasure swept over him. Just seeing Sam like that was what pushed Dean into his own climax, and it had to be the best one he'd ever had, simply because it was with, and caused by, Sam. It would be gross and uncomfortable later, all that cooling come in his underwear, soaking through to his jeans, but that would be later.

Sam stayed next to him when it was over and they were both coming down, propped up on one elbow, his other hand resting on Dean's arm. "Goddamn, Sammy," Dean hummed, rolling to face him. It was catching up to him, the reality of it, Sam felt the same way, they'd just had sex (yeah, it totally counted. Even if there was no nakedness or penetration going on, it still totally counted), and there would be plenty of sex in the future. For the first time in a long time, Dean was absolutely sated, and happy. He smiled at Sam contentedly.

Sam smiled back, looking a little sleepy, and Dean had to chuckle. Sam would be the type to zonk out after he came. Of course he would. "How are you feeling, Dean?"

"Fucking awesome." He yawned. Come to think of it, he was pretty tired himself. "All because of you. Surprised me there, with the whole kissing thing." He wasn't going to be having a girly heart to heart. Definitely not doing that. Even if he'd just had Sam's tongue in his mouth, he still wasn't going to get into a three hour discussion like Sam probably would, discussing their future plans for anniversaries or weddings or something. Except they couldn't get married. Whatever, still, Sam was a princess who liked to talk. Dean could totally do cuddling, though, if Sam was up for that. He'd be sure to protest and pretend like he hated it, of course. He had an image to maintain, damn it!

Surprisingly, Sam didn't seem all that eager to talk. For once. He stretched out and closed his eyes, pretending not to notice when Dean scooted closer, nudging against his arm. He wrapped it around him like it was his idea, instead of Dean's, because that was how awesome Sam was.

Dean was pretty sure he was smiling in a disgustingly sappy way as he fell asleep.  
*  
The next morning, when he woke up, it took him a slow second to remember just what had gone on the previous night. When he did, he smiled so wide his face ached. Sam. Sex. Requited feelings. It was all true. Reality, and not some insane dream.

Dean turned his head, eyes widening when he saw Sam wasn't there. Maybe it had actually been an insane dream. Maybe he'd told Sam how he felt and Sam had walked out and he'd fallen asleep alone and-

Just as he was really gathering steam for his freakout, Sam walked through the door with coffee and donuts. He'd showered and dressed in clean clothes, which reminded Dean how uncomfortable he was. Not only had he fallen asleep fully clothed, but _ew_ , dried come in his boxers, nasty. That was quickly forgotten though, because Sam was here, he'd just gone out, not left because he was horrified and thought it was all a mistake. He was smiling at Dean, setting the coffee down and coming straight over.

"You're finally awake, you were knocked out when I got up."

Dean couldn't say anything for a second, still recovering from his moment of panic, then leaned forward to kiss Sam, just because he could now. He kept it chaste, a closed mouth, light brush of the lips. Partly because it was too damn early for anything else, and partly because he had morning breath and didn't really want to inflict that on Sam.

Sam didn't hesitate in returning it, putting a little more pressure behind it before he pulled back. "You're feeling good this morning."

"Of course I am." Dean didn't want to be sappy, but he was just really happy. "Of course I am, Sammy. After so long, I've just found out you feel the same way I do. What about that isn't going to make me feel good? How did you hide it so well? I never suspected a thing."

Sam's smile faltered a little bit. "Dean..."

"What?" Dean's own grin faded. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, Dean," Sam said softly. He looked straight at Dean. "I don't feel exactly the same way you do."

A horrible sinking feeling went through Dean. "What do you mean?" He should have known better. He was a Winchester, he wasn't allowed to be happy, was he? "What-"

Sam looked like he was trying to find the best way to word it. "I'm not in love with you, Dean. I love you, of course, but not like that. You're my brother. I don't see you as anything else."

Dean's head was spinning again, just like in the previous night, but not in the good way. He felt like he'd just been kicked repeatedly in the stomach. "But last night," he choked out. "You- Goddamn it, Sam, you kissed me! You made the first move, you never...you never told me to stop." He couldn't take it in, Sam didn't want him, not like that, but they'd had sex. So, he wanted it, and Sam didn't... "No," he hadn't, he thought Sam had wanted it, "No, no," he hadn't forced him, Sam had been willing the whole time. Had he raped Sam? "If you didn't want me, why did you do it?" Now he was just angry. "What the hell? Were you just playing with me? Why did you make me admit it, do that to me... I never would have told you, I would have kept it a secret until I died, but you, you-" He couldn't say anymore, nasuea was swirling within him.

"Let me explain," Sam said, still in a calm voice. He didn't look like someone who'd had unwanted sex with his older brother. "You didn't force me. I enjoyed it." He smiled, but Dean was too horrified and furious to appreciate his beauty. "I finally figured out how you felt about me, and I just had to get you to admit it so I would know I was right. You wanted it, Dean. You needed it."

Dean was off the bed and backing away, the motel room too small to get any real amount of distance between them. "But you didn't! You didn't want it!"

"I did. Not in the same way you did, because I'm not in love with you, but you wanted and needed it, and I wanted you to have it." Sam didn't stand up and come after him, just stayed sitting on the bed. "I wanted you to have me. It's not like you tied me down and forced yourself on me. From what I remember, I made the first move, and I was an active participant. Takes two to tango. I enjoyed it, and I wouldn't mind doing it again." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Actually, I think I would like to do it again. It felt good, it was nice."

"What the fuck." Dean had known from the second he realized how he felt about Sam that he wasn't normal (had he ever been? Not since he was four), but this was a whole new level of twisted. "Sam, why are you being so casual about this? You don't want me, you don't love me like that, like I love you, but you _liked_ it?! You want to do it again? I'm your brother!"

"I told you, I do want you, sort of. In a different way. Since I want you to have this, I want it too. It was consensual."

"How could you do this to me, Sam?" Dean slid down the wall to the floor, covering his face with his hands. Maybe if he didn't look the whole situation would be erased. Maybe he could go back to hiding his feelings and Sam not knowing, back to normal. Had he actually been feeling good when he woke up? That was completely eradicated. "How could you?"

"What's the problem?" Sam sounded puzzled. "I don't understand, Dean, you want me, and I'm willing. What's so bad about me wanting you to be happy? Is it so wrong that I want you to have something you want for once? Is it that horrible that I'm doing something for you?" He'd finally gotten up and was now kneeling on the ground beside Dean, reaching out to touch his shoulders gently. "Why is that so bad? Won't you just let me do this for you? I told you, I liked it. I enjoyed it, Dean, you didn't force me. You can have this, we can have this. Come on."

This was so, so screwed up. Dean was not sitting on the filthy floor of a shabby motel room with his little brother offering up his body. Fucking hell, this was not happening. "Not like this!" He scrambled up and away from Sam, with his puppy eyes and gentle, convincing words. "It is wrong, and it is bad, and I want you, but not like this. I thought you wanted me back, but you were only doing it for me, and not for yourself." He was wearing dirty clothes, those Goddamn come encrusted underwear, but he couldn't stay in the room a second longer, especially not while Sam was giving him that hurt look.

"Dean!" Sam called after him as he left, but he ignored it, going straight for the Impala. Except his keys were still inside. Fuck. Whatever, it didn't matter. He headed off on foot. He wasn't leaving Sam, he wasn't, he just needed some time by himself, to try and calm down and stop himself from puking.  
*  
It was hours later when he got back, feet sore, sweaty and filthy. He hadn't gotten anything accomplished except for tiring himself out from the walking, and running at some points. He half expected Sam to be gone, but no, he was sitting at the table, hangdog miserable expression on his face. He was up as soon as Dean got through the door, _where have you been, why were you gone so long, we need to talk, Dean, let's talk,_ but Dean ignored him and went to his duffle, pulling out clean clothes. He was going to shower, then they were going to get in the car and drive away, find another town, another hunt, pretend like this had never happened. That was the most reasonable solution Dean could think of.

Sam followed him to the bathroom door like a puppy, still trying to get him to sit down and talk. He went into the bathroom and closed the door, locking it. (Not that it would do any good if Sam really wanted to get it, he could pick the lock or break it down easily, but that wasn't Sam's style. He would just sit outside and wait.)

In the shower, he scrubbed his skin viciously, pointedly ignoring his dick, even when it perked up with memories of last night. He was not going to think about that, and he certainly wasn't going to think about it whilst jerking off. Sam was an idiot. Where the hell had he even gotten the idea that Dean would be okay doing that with him when his feelings weren't returned? When Sam didn't really want him? Maybe it wasn't rape, since Sam claimed he'd been willing (he'd certainly seemed willing at the time and, Dean reminded himself, he'd made the first move), but all the same, Sam didn't want him. Not like that, like Dean wished he did.

Why did Sam have to push it, anyway? Even if he had realized how Dean had felt, why couldn't he just be quiet about it? Couldn't he just have left it alone? Dean turned the hot water up until it was scalding him. He would have gone on longing and hoping, he was used to it, for the rest of his life. It was all he had expected anyway. But now, now Dean knew what kissing Sam felt like, what he looked and sounded like when he came.

A small part of him was tempted to take Sam up on his offer, say screw it and fuck like bunnies, but the rest of Dean was very firm on the matter. He wouldn't touch Sam like that again. Sam was only doing it out of some screwed up favor, maybe he wanted to repay Dean for saving his ass so many times or some such bullshit. His little brother was even more messed up than he had ever realized, if Sam honestly didn't see what his problem was.

He'd brought his clothes in with him, so he didn't have to go wandering out in front of Sam in a towel. He didn't know why he felt uncomfortable about the idea, he just did. As he'd expected, Sam was hovering outside the bathroom door. The second he poked his nose out, Sam was talking, soothing, cajoling. Dean was having none of it.

"Pack your stuff, Sam. We're hitting the road in five minutes." He shoved his balled up dirty clothes into his duffle (damn underwear rolled up in the jeans and shirts so he didn't have to look at them. He would've thrown them out if he could spare them), hoisted it onto his shoulder, and left the room. Behind him, he could hear Sam slowly gathering his things.  
*  
It was quiet for the first couple of miles. Then Sam spoke, so quietly he barely heard him. "I just want you to be happy."

"I was happy before you pulled that stunt."

"No, you weren't."

Dean turned up the music so loud his ears were still ringing long after the tape ended.  
*  
Their next case was a simple salt and burn. Some evil old teacher kept showing up to terrorize her former class. Sam was holding the flashlight while Dean took his turn digging up mean old Bertha.

"McFiggins? What kind of name is that?" he grunted as he scooped out a shovelful of dirt. "Weird name."

"Because Winchester is such an ordinary, run of the mill name," Sam returned, amused. "Dean."

Dean recognized that tone of voice, the _let's talk_ tone. "Sorry, Sam. Kind of busy here, too busy to chat."

It had only been three days since That Incident, and Sam had constantly tried to bring it up, even in the middle of a hunt. Tried to get him to see that they should totally start having sex, even if Sam didn't really want it. Dean didn't care what Sam said, just wanting him to be happy or wanting him to have what he wanted didn't mean Sam wanted it. Not in his mind.

"Dean!"

"Damn it, Sammy, I told you I'm not talking about this!" Dean dug the shovel in again. Sam was so stubborn, just like their father. Was it not getting through his thick skull that Dean would not talk about it, or even acknowledge that it happened?

"No, Dean!" Movement, Sam fumbling for his gun (why didn't the idiot have it ready?) and a grunt of pain as the ghost sent him flying. Crap. Sam had been trying to warn him about the ghost, at least the second and third times he'd said his name. The first had totally been him trying to get Dean to talk.

Making a snap decision, Dean started shoveling faster. It would be quicker if he stayed in the hole and kept going at it, even though his brain was screaming at him to get out and make sure Sam was okay. A split second later, he heard Sam fire the shotgun, and knew he'd made the right choice.

Sam's head appeared over the rim of the grave as Dean started to break open the coffin. "Tried to warn you."

"You should have had your gun ready." He pulled himself out of the hole and took the salt from his brother.

"I was holding the light for you," Sam said sulkily, pouring in the gas.

Dean threw in a match. Lighters were expensive, so they used matches when they could, though matches were harder to light. "It only takes one hand to hold a flashlight."

They trekked back to the Impala, fire burning at their backs. Sam cast him a meaningful look. _We're talking when we get back to the room,_ it said. Like hell. "Beer, shower, and sleep," he said in his firmest Big Brother Voice.

Sam pulled a face, like he was supposed to as the younger brother, shoulders hunched as he pulled the car door open and got in.  
*  
People always said that, after a certain amount of time, things got easier. Dean said that was bullshit. It didn't get easier, only harder. He'd thought it had been hard before, wanting and feeling the way he did about Sam, knowing he could never have him like that, but now, now that he'd actually been with Sam once, knew what it was like... The temptation, Jesus. It didn't help that he knew Sam was willing, that if he just agreed, he could have that with Sam. They could have that.

He refused to let himself be weak. Refused to cave in and kiss Sam, touch him. Maybe Sam wanted to be with him, but not for the right reasons. He claimed he wanted Dean to be happy, and it was a nice gesture, but not what Dean wanted. He wouldn't, couldn't sleep with Sam, knowing he was the only one who really wanted it.

Dean wanted it, of course he did, he wanted it more than anything, but he didn't need it. He could live without having it. Had done before. He would be fine if he just shoved the memory of that time, and his feelings down deep and kept moving, kept hunting.

Except that was what he had tried to to when he first discovered that he was in love with Sam, and it hadn't worked then. Goddamn it.

Sam wasn't helping. He was still trying to get Dean to talk about it, of course he was. Still trying to convince him to give in. Two weeks on from The Incident, they were coming back in from a hunt, filthy and exhausted. Ghouls, nasty things.

"I claim first shower," Dean said immediately. Normally he let Sam have it first, or at least offered, but he was in no mood to be a gentleman tonight. One of the ghouls had tossed him into a wall, hard, and his whole body was aching.

"You hit that wall pretty hard," Sam murmured, worry in his voice. "Are there bruises? Let me see."

"Sam..."

"Just let me." Sam took hold of his arm and gently tugged him until he sat down on the bed.

That was what he'd said when... Dean shivered. No, he wasn't thinking about that, he wasn't. He was supposed to be pretending that had never happened. "I don't know why you're so gung ho to have a look, it's not like you can stitch up bruises or make them magically go away," he grumped as he grasped the hem of his tee and lifted it up, enough for Sam to see the ugly bruises all along his right side.

Sam winced sympathetically, brushing a finger along them lightly. Dean grimaced and shifted away. "Don't go poking them, idiot, that hurts!"

"Does it?" Dean made a duh face at him, and Sam smirked, leaning down and in. Before Dean could ask what he was doing, his mouth was on his brother's skin, pressed to the bruises in a gentle kiss, tongue flicking out like he wanted to taste Dean's skin.

Dean made an embarassing noise that definitely wasn't a whimper, heat zinging through him and straight to between his legs at that simple touch. "Sammy, what-"

Hushing him, Sam took hold of his hip, pulling him closer as he nuzzled his skin, licking over the bruises again, moving upward until he'd left the injured area completely, rasping his tongue over one of Dean's nipples, free hand sliding over the bulge in his jeans.

For a moment, Dean allowed himself to be lost in the pleasure, Sam rubbing his erection lightly and tonguing his nipple, but jerked back to reality when Sam moaned into his chest. He shoved Sam back so violently he was thrown to the floor, glaring at him, chest heaving and dick so hard it hurt. "Fuck, Sam, I told you no!"

"Dean," Sam said, almost in a pleading tone. "You want it, I know you do. You want it so much, I can see how you want it. I can give it to you, give myself to you, make you feel good. Make us both feel good. Make you happy. Why can't you let yourself have this? Have me? Can't you just let me give this to you?"

Oh, God, he did want it. So badly. All he had to do was throw himself down and kiss Sam like he desperately wanted to, it would be so simple. So easy. He almost gave in, then remembered Sam didn't really want it. "No. Just no. I told you no, I'm telling you again! Yeah, I want you, Sam. More than you can imagine. But I won't let you do this. No matter if you want me to be happy or what the hell ever, you don't actually want me."

"I do! Not like you want me, but I enjoy touching you, Dean. Hearing the sounds you make. I like it when you touch me. It feels good for me, and I know it feels good for you, that it makes you happy. I'm willing. You want it. Why does it have to be so difficult?"

Damn Sam and his damn lawyer training or whatever he'd learned at Stanford. He was actually making sense. Sam was willing, even if he didn't love Dean like that. He enjoyed it, and Dean wanted it, so no one was being forced or anything like that. Why not? Again Dean found himself considering it. "No...Sam... I don't know what this is, if it's some fucked up favor you think you owe me or something, but I won't. I can't." He closed his eyes and curled his hands into fists, willing himself to be strong. "Unless you really, truly want me like I want you, I can't be with you. Not like this." He turned and went into the bathroom, the only way to get some space from Sam apart from leaving the room entirely.

He left Sam still on the floor, rejected once again, and wondered why he felt like saying sorry.  
*  
Dean was restless the whole time Sam was taking his own shower, sitting on the bed one minute, pacing up and down the next. He wasn't tired anymore. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, not this early, and he couldn't stand the thought of hours spent awake, trapped in the room with Sam, desire buzzing under his skin. He would probably lose control of himself if he was stuck boxed in the tiny room. He needed to have a drink.

He actually thought about taking off by himself for awhile, going to a bar and relaxing, but Sam got out and looked at him, then around the room and made a thoughtful face. "Want to go out?" he offered tentatively.

"Read my mind, Sammy." He could handle Sam coming along. Surely his brother wouldn't try to get him to talk, or even make another move on him, in public?

The bar was a dive, but that was nothing new. Seemed that most places they ended up in were. Wasn't like they could afford one of the high class places, even if Dean had wanted to go to one. Not that he did, filled as they no doubt were with pretentious rick people. Probably some decent money to be made hustling, on the other hand. Huh. Maybe they should go to one someday.

They weren't particularly low on cash, so there wasn't any need for that. He was only there to have a drink. Or three. Maybe five. Not that that was enough to get him drunk. Dean wasn't a lightweight, unlike Sam.

The geek had naturally brought his laptop along and was typing away, staring at the screen with that little concentration crease between his eyes. Dean wanted to kiss it away.

There was a pretty girl staring at him from across the bar, brunette with a lowcut dress. Dean looked away. He wasn't in the mood. He would only be thinking of Sam anyway, even if he took her up on the offer, and that wasn't fair to the girl. Plus, he didn't want another scene like he'd gotten the one time he happened to say Sam's name in the middle of things. Literally kicked out of bed, cold water dumped on him. Not pleasant.

Speaking of Sam. He raised his head from the computer, looking back and forth from the girl to Dean, eyes slightly narrowed. He clearly expected Dean to go over and chat her up.

Dean stood up, draining the last dregs of his beer. "Let's get out of here." Sam stared at him in surprise even as he rose, closing the computer and following.  
*  
Over the next few weeks, Sam miraculously stopped trying to get him to talk. He just seemed to drop it. Dean would have been suspicious that he was planning something, but Sam hardly even touched him anymore, not even brotherly pats on the back.

Matter of fact, he wasn't talking much, period. He did stare, though, just like he'd been doing before, the same kind of looks, too, thoughtful, like he wanted to figure something out. He already knew how Dean felt, so he wasn't sure what Sam wanted to work out. What else was there?

He was a lot quieter than usual, and it worried Dean a little. He had no idea what was going on with Sam, but whatever it was, he didn't think it was anything good. They went to visit Bobby, and Sam didn't even geek out over the older hunter's seemingly endless collection of books. He picked some up to read, sure, but mainly sat in the corner, staring down at the page like he wasn't even seeing it.

It freaked Dean out. He almost wished Sam was still constantly nagging at him to talk. He even would have taken Sam making another move on him, anything over that near constant silence.

One afternoon, they had to interview a witness. Pretty girl, young. She was flirting with Dean, and just for the hell of it, he decided to flirt back. Might get her to like him more, be more comfortable talking to them. Get them the information they wanted easier.

Cindy, that was her name, had her hand on his arm, and it kept sliding higher until she had hold of his bicep. She squeezed lightly, testing, and he smirked at her. She seemed to like what she felt.

"So did you see anyone outside your building the night your neighbor died?" he tried to steer her in the right direction.

"Oh, yes, definitely. I don't know his name, but I recognized him as the bartender at that place on the corner. Hope I was of some help, _Officer_." She batted her eyelashes at him.

Dean nodded at looked over at Sam for the first time in awhile. He was taken aback by the expression on Sam's face. He looked really angry, for no reason Dean could think of. Cindy hadn't said much to him, nothing to make him that mad.

They left her apartment. Dean glanced at Sam again as they walked towards the car, but he didn't seem angry anymore. Just confused. "You okay, Sammy?"

"Fine." He didn't sound fine, he sounded a little lost, if anything. "I just, um." Dean thought for a minute he was going to say what had been bothering him, but instead he just shook his head. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Which meant it was definitely something, but Dean decided to let it go for the present. They had work to do.  
*  
It was a shapeshifter, which they took down easily. It didn't even bother transforming into one of them to try and trick them. Bit disappointing, really, Dean almost wanted a challenge. The last few hunts they'd been on had been really easy. Careful what you wish for, he told himself, better easy hunts than anything that could get one of them killed.

Same old routine. Kill the baddy, return to the motel, crash. Head out the next morning and find a new town, new monster to kill.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said to him, after they'd eaten and showered.

Dean jumped slightly. It was a shock to hear Sam talk to him when they were alone and there was nothing trying to kill them. He'd gotten used to not speaking and not being spoken to, the odd silence that they'd fallen into recently. Maybe Sam was ready to break it and go back to normal? With any luck, that included not trying to talk about feelings. "Yeah."

"I have to talk to you."

There it was. Sam was back at it. Rolling his eyes, he lifted the remote and turned the volume of the TV way up. The movie had lots of explosions and screaming. It would cover Sam's attempt nicely.

Except apparently Sam wasn't having that. He got up, came to Dean's bed, and snatched the remote, switching the TV off.

"Dude, I was watching that!" Dean straightened, ready to tackle him and start a wrestling match for the remote if need be, but Sam wasn't having _that_ either. He threw the remote across the room and shoved Dean back against the pillows before he could dive for it.

"I want to talk to you," he repeated, swinging one long leg onto the bed and over Dean, settling himself on Dean's thighs. Definitely not part of the routine. "It's important. More important than television."

So that was what this was. He should have known Sam would never let it go. "How many Goddamn times do I have to tell you," he started angrily, but Sam spoke over him.

"Just listen to me, will you? I've been doing a lot of thinking. About everything, me and you and your feelings." Sam waved his arm in a broad gesture, almost smacking Dean in the nose. "About _my_ feelings for you. I think I'm. Maybe I. Uh." Dean hadn't seen Sam this tongue tied since he was a teenager, asking out a girl he had a crush on. "Earlier today, with that witness, I was jealous." Dean's eyebrows shot up. "She was touching you, and you were smiling at her, and I wanted," Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I wanted you to look at me like that when I touch you. I wanted to touch you, period."

"Where are you going with this, Sam?" Dean wasn't sure what he should be doing, pushing Sam off of him again, or kissing him, or just sitting there like a dummy staring at him. "What are you saying?"

"IthinkImightbeinlovewithyou," Sam said, words rushing together, barely understandable. "I think I love you. In the past three or four weeks I realized I feel differently about you, and I've been trying to figure out why. And the whole sex thing... It isn't about wanting you to have that anymore. I mean, it still is, I want you to be happy, but I want it too. A lot." He swallowed, meeting Dean's eyes. "You said we couldn't, until I wanted you like you want me. And now I do."

Dean had chosen the gaping like a fool option. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was this for real? Was Sam messing with him, or just saying this to get him to give in? No, he was telling the truth. Staring into Sam's eyes, he knew right down to his bones that Sam was speaking the truth. He felt the same way. At some point in the last, oh, month? Month and a half, he'd somehow managed to fall in love with Dean. "Are you sure?" He wasn't going to go through this again, have Sam one time, then the next morning he announced he'd been wrong and he really only saw Dean as his brother.

"Positive." Sam petted his knee. "More sure than I've been about anything, ever." He gnawed his lip. "So, can we?"

"Hell yeah," Dean breathed, pulling Sam down for a kiss that was everything. He'd been wanting to do this again ever since that first time, but he hadn't been able to let himself, not with Sam doing it only for him. Now that Sam wanted it too, there was nothing to stop him from kissing Sam, rolling him onto his back on the bed, finally stripping that shirt off of him.

Sam was making the most amazing noises as he touched him, all that skin. Scarred in some places, smooth in others, but so damn beautiful. "Didn't get a chance to do this before," he said into Sam's skin, pausing in the middle of sucking a hickey on his brother's hipbone. "Didn't get a chance to really," he stopped again to appreciate Sam's loud groan, "Get to know your body."

He hadn't gotten the chance before, but he made sure he did this time, sucking, licking, and biting all over Sam's torso until he was breathless and writhing. "I haven't even gotten below the belt yet," Dean said in amazement, pulling back. Yeah, he was a sex god and all, but he hadn't so much as touched Sam's dick yet, and he was this far gone already? Goddamn. He deserved an award. Dean Winchester: Certified King Of Sex. He had skills.

"Dean," Sam panted, tugging him in for another kiss. "Dean, oh God, please, Dean."

Dean almost came on the spot. Sam so turned on all he could say was his name? Hotter than anything. Ever. "Yeah, Sammy. I'mma take care of you, don't worry." He reached between them, raising himself up a little so he could get Sam's jeans undone, working them off just enough for him to get Sam's boxers down too. For the first time, he actually got a good look at what Sam was packing. Sure, he'd sneaked a look once or twice (okay, more than that. Every single time Sam was naked he'd been trying to see as much as he could. Not that he would ever admit to it), but it had always been two second glances, looking away before Sam could catch him. He could finally look as much as he wanted.

He did take a minute to just get to know Sam's dick, wrapping his hand lightly around it and pumping experimentally. He'd never touched another guy's dick before. Sam was the only guy he'd ever wanted. It wasn't so different from his own, little longer, little thicker, but not as strange as Dean had thought it might be.

"Dean!" Sam's voice reminded him he was supposed to be doing something. In the middle of sex, hello. Right. He'd have plenty of time in the future to stare at Sam's junk all he wanted. Now, though, he wanted to...

Dean raised his eyes, wondering if Sam would mind. Probably not. Why would he? Who would complain when offered a blowjob? He really wanted to know what Sam tasted like. What he felt like in Dean's mouth. He shuffled backwards on the bed, wondering if he looked like a demented crab. He hoped not, that was definitely not sexy.

Sam didn't seem to have a problem, though, because when Dean put his mouth on him for the first time, not only was he hard, he let out a startled squawk, hips bucking, shoving his cock too deep. Gagging, Dean reared back, eyes watering.

"Sorry, sorry," Sam apologized furiously, sitting up and reaching for him. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting that!"

"The attempted blowjob, or me choking?" Dean coughed. "I'm fine, lay back down." Sam didn't look convinced, so he pushed him back down gently. "Try to control yourself, I've never done this before."

Sam's dick twitched at that revelation. "You haven't? Fuck, that's hot." He plopped back down obediently, grinning goofily at Dean, who was powerless to do anything but beam back, just like the sappy, girly fool he was.

He made sure to put his arm across Sam's hips to hold him down for his next attempt. They'd never get anywhere if he kept choking. It had to be far from the best blowjob Sam had ever had, because despite Dean's best efforts, Sam kept thrusting up anyway, and even when he didn't, Dean kept trying to take too much into his mouth at once. It still couldn't have been too bad, Sam wasn't complaining. He wasn't saying anything at all, just kept moaning.

It was sloppy as hell, spit and precome everywhere, but again, Sam was enjoying it. It wasn't too bad for Dean either. He had thought, originally, that putting a dick into his mouth would have been disgusting. It wasn't, or at least not as much as he had expected. He still preferred being on the receiving end when it came to blowjobs, though.

Sam didn't warn him when he came, pulling Dean's hair so hard it hurt (he clearly wasn't capable of speaking coherently, though, so Dean didn't blame him), so it took Dean by surprise. He choked, again, damn it, some of the come spilling out. He managed to swallow the majority.

He made a face. It was salty and bitter. Not exactly delicious, but Sam made a whining sound and hauled him up, kissing him furiously, so he thought it was hot.

Dean rocked against him, rubbing his neglected erection against Sam's leg. Even that felt amazing, he was so turned on. Boneless and worn out by his own orgasm, Sam just held on to him and kissed him. Not that Dean had a problem with that.

"Hey, Dean." Sam turned his head to whisper into his ear, voice soft and intimate. "Do you think, could you maybe, fuck me? I've been thinking about it, in the shower. I touched myself, thinking about you putting your fingers in me, pretending it was you."

Holy fucking Christ. Sam, opening himself up in the shower, picturing Dean while he was doing it... "Oh, fuckfuckingfuck," he moaned long and low as he came, without Sam even touching him.

It seemd to go on forever, ecstasy washing through him and making his toes curl. He was a little embarassed over having come so easily, but Sam wasn't making fun of him. He pulled Dean down on top of him, kissing him hungrily.

Dean let himself just sprawl over Sam like his brother was a mattress. His cheek pressed to Sam's chest, he smiled disgustingly wide. This was like before, happiness filling him, except this time it was for real.

At least, he hoped it was. "Sammy...you're not going to change your mind in a few hours, are you? Are you going to tell me you were wrong and I'm still only your brother?"

Sam shook his head furiously, like some kind of puppy. "No! No, I swear, this time is for real. I've been thinking about it nonstop for weeks. I know this is it, my feelings for you are serious." He paused, eyes soft as he stared at Dean. "Love you."

Really? Dean sighed and hid his face in Sam's neck. It was easier, somehow, if he didn't have to look at him. "Love you too." It embarassed him to say it out loud, because that was something Winchesters Didn't Do. It still warmed him all over, making him kind of tingly. Goddamn. Maybe he was secretly a girl.

Sam's ridiculously long arms wrapped around him, hugging him close. Dean squirmed, pretending to dislike the cuddle, but Sam held him fast, not letting him get away. Smiling wider, Dean gave in and went limp. He could totally do cuddling. He'd never tell Sam he liked it, but he had a feeling Sam already knew anyway, because he knew everything about Dean now. Including that one secret Dean had always kept from him.

Maybe, in a little while, he would even fulfil Sam's request. He might even let Sam have a go at topping him if he was nice enough. He had a very good feeling they weren't going to be getting out of bed for at least a day.

He also had a good feeling that neither of them had a problem with that. Life was good.


End file.
